cloudy…with a chance of murder

Kelley really doesn’t understand weight in her art, does she? That business I’ve discussed before about the hands looking like early 2000-era grip-without-gripping digital art, and what’s the deal with this piece? I mean I understand that Sherlock is like…arching off the bed or something, but if that’s the case, some part of his thighs or even his ass should be heavily pressing into the sheets, as well as his elbows (or his shoulders, but really, his elbows, and maybe some forearm). But there’s no ruching on the sheets at all.

hands to myself

hm…

so apparently, verityburns and br0-harry were married until he died of cancer about two weeks ago. and like…her whole most recent tumblr post is about how bbc sherlock brought them together, and she got out of her toxic relationship with her husband who she hadn’t loved for the past 10 years because of him and their love for one another, and they spent the last year together getting married and then cramming as much adventure and passion into their remaining time as possible, and then he died and they were soulmates and now the air is thinner and stuff.

on the one hand, i guess i feel bad for her? kind of? except not really because i…don’t know them and i don’t really care. on the other, and this is the surprising thing, i do feel a little bad about all the nasty things i’ve said about her writing. and the thing is i have no real reason to, because i still stand by all of them, but somehow the knowledge that her writing was the thing that first attracted his attention and ultimately brought them together is…confusing me, i guess.

ETA: i think the reason i was feeling so kind-of-not-exactly bad about all the crap i’ve said about her writing is that i was afraid (not realistically but in a paranoid sort of way) that of all times, now would be when someone would find this blog and see all the crap i’ve said about her (and others’) writing (and art) and get all “how can you say that her husband just died.” not regret for the action, fear of the possible repercussions. i think that’s sociopathic behavior?

anyway the thing i’ve found out based on all the divulging she’s done is that although i can’t figure out exactly how old she is, i do know now that verityburns is old enough to have a 10+ year marriage behind her and two children, the younger of whom is now i think 12 years old or thereabouts, maybe 13. based on the fact that she was raised to believe that divorce is intolerable when children are involved, i’m going to bet she didn’t have either child out of wedlock; now i don’t know how old her older son is, but assuming she finished college prior to marriage and childbearing, she’s at least 34. (i’m aware that those assumptions are lacking concrete evidence, but i’m making semi-reasonable guesses to support my conclusion.)

now, if i’m right, that means that those fics i so dislike were written by a woman at least 34 years old. my question is this:

why can’t these people write?

i mean, i tend to assume any truly shitty author is like, 15 years old at most, but to learn that so many of them are in their 20s-30s-40s is baffling to me. and then the popularity of these pieces is mindblowing. ffs what ever happened to discerning tastes? critical thinking and reasoning skills? what kind of education did these people have?

oh oh oh, and my usual kelley-related hyper judgmentalism:

anotherwellkeptsecret
Dec 21 ’15

Anon who just sent me a message. You don’t deserve to be acknowledged.

um…what do you call this, exactly? seriously kelley has this awful habit of getting on her high horse (i bet it’s a clydesdale) and broadcasting that she’s just gotten some anonymous hate or something that she’s very pointedly not responding to. every single fucking time i’m like hey, hey there sugar beet, if you were really ignoring them and not having an emotional reaction, you would be, guess what, ignoring them. chances are they’re tracking your blog, or at least aware of it for awhile, and even if you don’t name them or post the contents of their message, it’s still a shoutout.

you caught a male spiritomb!

oh my god.

so kelley, who likes reblogging other people’s art with unvarnished praise regardless of the actual quality thereof, reblogged this thing based on this fic (the summary is just “CAM comes to play”) and i was like “dude, what the fuck, is that moriarty and anthea?” (turns out no, it’s mycroft and anthea, but i have to tell you that looks way more like moriarty than mycroft…although i suppose the umbrella should’ve been a clue, but in my defense, that doesn’t look like anthea, so my conclusion is that he’s a fine original artist but not so much the fanartist.)

anyway! i was so curious that i clicked on the link to the fic (it’s called “Snowblind,” apparently, and it’s john/mary but i didn’t know that before i clicked) and holy fuck this is terrible. like i started reading it aloud for my own amusement and literally the only time my tone changed was when a sentence ended with a question mark.

this is the section i read, from the beginning of chapter 36, Barrier Plans:

“Not I.” Rang through the earpieces.

The lights were out. Including the emergency lights. It was nothing but inky blackness. The machinery was still humming. The sounds seemed louder. St. Jude’s fury was made very evident. Mary could hear Mycroft messing with the torches.

“It is really dark in here.”

“And very loud.”

“Loss of one sense makes the others more acute.”

“Correct. Mary close your eyes.” Mycroft stated.

“Ok. They are closed.”

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes not to blind himself. The torches gave him a four meter circle of light. Mycroft covered her eyes.

“Now you can open them.”

Mycroft gradually opened his fingers. Letting the light in gradually.

“Now that is a smart idea.”

Mycroft was wearing the two torches 180 degrees apart on his head. One forward. One back.

“Thanks. Now I’m sorry if this causes you any pain. Tell me and I can adjust my grip.”

Mary nodded. Mycroft stood up and stretched.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Mycroft reached under her thighs and around her back. He tightened the grip before he lifted. Mary put her left arm around his shoulders.

“Mary I need one bounce to get you up.”

“Ok.”

Mycroft did it fast. Mary was a bit dizzy. She just tucked into Mycroft’s chest. He slowly stood up.

“Mary?”

“I’m ok. Just a bit dizzy.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes. I will let you know if something is going on.”

“Ok. Ready?”

“Yes.”

i mean, granted, i have no idea what’s going on action- or plot-wise, but i hardly think that even matters.

good lord, i skipped a bit down the page and found this absolute gem:

“What can you leg press?”

“A tad over twice my weight.”

Mary realized how much muscle Mycroft was carrying.

“Well your pretty ripped from what I can tell.”

and a bit later, evidently at some sort of reunion scene:

“They are rather talented like that.”

Everyone turned towards Mycroft’s voice.

“Hi everyone.” Mary said with a smile and wave.

John just went on instinct. He kissed Mary on the lips. Then Mycroft on the cheek. Mycroft carried her into the lift and gently laid her down. Mary put her forehead against his.

“Thanks Mycroft.”

Mycroft stood up and found John pulling him into a bear hug. Mycroft relaxed into it. Neither of them said anything. Words would cheapen the sentiment. They allowed themselves a minute before they pulled apart.

you know what else cheapens the sentiment? this writing. actually this writing removes the sentiment. this writing renders the sentiment inconsequential because it’s impossible to tell what the sentiment is.

because i’m me, this is the “petty and small” portion of this already pretty petty and small entry: the story was first posted on 9 january 2014 and most recently updated (chapter 36) 10 december 2015, clocking in at a total of 59,477 words, and it has 4490 hits (two of which are mine so they don’t count) and 25 kudos. also this author is 46 years old. that shit was written by a 46-year old. who joined ao3 in 2012 and selected the penname Dragonsbain. good lord.

strontium

so i’m watching “jessica jones” on netflix because everyone’s like “you gotta! it’s marvel finally being feminist! all these great female characters it’s amazing omg!” it’s about as melodramatic and cheesy as i’d expect from marvel and the dialogue is mostly stupid; i’m mostly watching for david tennant and carrie-anne moss, and i don’t even really like their previous works, i just know they have chops. on that note, and this really is the point i wanted to make, i can’t decide if mike colter, who plays the male lead, is a ridiculously horrible actor or he’s just being a dude in a marvel piece and that’s why he sucks.

this show is super dumb.

ah, fuck, they just gave a bus a taxi cab license plate (four digits instead of five digits and a letter) and the driver, at the last stop, turned in his seat and said to what’s-his-face, luke, with actual sincerity: “sorry; this is the last stop.”